


Lucky

by Jabberwocky (Sisterwives)



Category: Homestuck
Genre: HSO, Homestuck Shipping Olympics, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-04
Updated: 2012-08-04
Packaged: 2017-11-11 09:55:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,948
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/477277
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sisterwives/pseuds/Jabberwocky
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bro Strider reflects on his sexuality and his budding relationship with another single father, grappling with the dilemma of whether or not he should take a chance on love.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lucky

In retrospect, Bro Strider supposed that he always knew that he was gay. The first time he could recall having an interest in other boys was when he was six years old. He was a scrawny first-grader dressed in clothes that were two sizes too big, hand-me-downs from the older, biological son of the most recent foster family that had took him in, and a grubby baseball hat that he had found abandoned in the streets. Back then, Cal never left his side, not for a moment, always tucked under his arm or clutched to his chest or looped around his neck. He didn’t care if it meant that he would get teased for being too old to bring a lovey to school, or if he had to argue with his teacher when she suggested that he leave his little friend in his locker (“Are you kidding me?! He’ll suffocate!”) until she relented and let him keep Lil’ Cal underneath his chair. Cal was the one constant in Bro’s life, the one thing that never changed no matter how many times he was shuffled from one foster home to another, labeled from a tender age as a strange and unsettling “problem child.”

And, ironically enough, Cal was also his undoing when a young Bro Strider matter-of-factly tried to hold the hand of a classmate and give him an innocent peck on the cheek. The other boy had shoved him and his puppet onto the pavement, let out an “eww!”, and called him a freak before running off to tell the playground monitor.

The next day, Bro left Lil’ Cal in his locker. It took years for him to realize that the boy who had rejected him wasn’t calling him a freak because he carried his puppet around with him everywhere, but because “boys aren’t supposed to kiss other boys.” The notion finally sank in when he was in the fourth grade and found himself on the receiving end of a slew of “you’re so gay” insults and homophobic slurs. From that point on, Bro shut himself off from his peers and focused on three things:  training himself in martial arts, cultivating his knowledge of the intricacies of irony, and building up his collection of puppets. And for years, that was all he needed. Personal relationships fell to the wayside for Bro Strider.

Until now.

“What are you thinking about?” Egbert asked, giving Bro a quizzical look as he placed his pipe in his mouth. Bro had been unusually silent on their trek down the fifteen flights of stairs that led to the Striders’ shoebox of an apartment and still had not spoken a word even after they emerged out onto the streets of Houston. It was an uncomfortably humid night despite the October date, with the sunset bringing only a mild respite from the heat, but Bro would have taken any weather if it meant escaping the stuffy atmosphere of the apartment. Although he had been the one to suggest that they get some fresh air for a smoking break, he had gotten lost in his own head once the apartment door shut behind them and had nearly forgotten about his guest. Egbert patiently waited for him to gather his thoughts while he pulled out his tin of loose pipe tobacco.

“Huh?” Bro shook himself out of his reverie, covering his momentary lapse of attention by digging around in his pocket for his pack of cigarettes. “Nothing, nothing, just tired. Y’know how it is. It’s been a long day, I’ll be glad when the kid gets over this stomach virus shit.” He flicked open the pack and frowned slightly when he realized he was down to his last cigarette. He’d have to shell out of his next paycheck for a few new packs of Lucky Strikes, and it was already hard enough making ends meet despite the new DJing job he had landed in addition to his menial job at the local convenience store around the block. All he could think about was that he would be grateful when he could get the puppet porn website he had been designing up and off the ground. Maybe then he wouldn’t have to dig through piles of smuppet prototypes and crawl underneath the futon every time he needed money to pay for a cab to haul Dave to the pediatrician’s.

The one good thing about reaching the end of the pack was getting to smoke his lucky cigarette, the one he superstitiously turned upside-down every time he opened a new package of smokes and saved for last. You never know, it might make him lucky, and with the thoughts he was entertaining tonight, he’d need all the luck he could get.

“Thanks for coming over, by the way,” Bro said, flipping over the cigarette and sliding it between his lips. He very nearly tossed the empty box on the sidewalk out of sheer habit, but, remembering Egbert’s admonitions the last time he had carelessly done so in front of him, he crumpled it and stuffed it back in his pocket instead. “I know I kinda sprang it on you out of nowhere… but I would’ve gone batshit insane if I had to spend two more minutes cooped up in there alone with a crying toddler, projectile vomiting ad nauseum.”

Egbert smiled at him –and _god_ , Bro would never cease to be astonished by the warmth in his expression— and replied, “Any time. I was sorry to hear that Dave is ill, the poor thing, and I knew you had to be going stir-crazy, taking care of him by yourself all day.”

Bro snorted, taking out his lighter and bringing the flame to the tip of his cigarette. “That’s a word for it.” He didn’t feel the need to address the way he had nearly jumped on top of Egbert when he opened the door to find him there, having spent the past hour scrubbing at the mess the three-year-old had made on the living room floor, only to hear retching coming from Dave’s bedroom moments later.

He watched as Egbert finished tamping down the pipe tobacco, amazed as ever at the methodical care with which he treated the art of pipe smoking. “Want me to, uh, get that for you?” Bro asked, motioning with his lighter.

Egbert looked pleasantly surprised. “Why, certainly,” he answered. “You know how to light a pipe?”

“Sure I do, it’s straightforward enough,” Bro bluffed. “I mean, I once had a foster dad who smoked a pipe.” While the latter was true, he had been too young at the time to pay much attention to his foster father’s smoking habits. Besides, he had only been with that particular couple for three months before they returned him, claiming that they were too old for such a peculiar, rambunctious, and troublesome child.

Bro moved in closer, which was unnecessary given that he had been leaning against the wall, dangerously close to the other man, but he wanted the excuse to be as near to him as possible. He flicked the lighter open, the spark igniting, and for one brief moment, their eyes connected over the small flame that flickered between them. Bro forced himself to shift his gaze to the pipe, bringing the tip of the lighter to meet the bowl of tobacco. He started to pull his hand away, but Egbert made a dissenting noise and placed his hand over Bro’s.

“Ahh, let me show you a special technique. You see, smoking a pipe is an experience in and of itself, and in order to ensure maximum enjoyment, you have to give careful attention to the way that you light the pipe. See, you want to begin with a preliminary charring light…”

“Right,” Bro said automatically, but he wasn’t listening anymore. He was too distracted by the way he could feel the heat of Egbert’s palm even through his leather gloves, too focused on the pinpricks of electricity that jolted through him when Egbert’s fingertips brushed over his exposed skin. He let Egbert guide his hand through the motions, gently moving it in slow circles “so that the flame covers the entire surface, balancing out the tobacco moisture and density,” as Egbert explained between shallow puffs of his pipe.

“Right,” Bro parroted, only dimly aware of the words reaching his ears. Caught up in the intimacy of the moment, he kept his eyes focused on Egbert’s face, just inches away from his own, and watched the warm light dance across his features. This wasn’t the first time that he questioned the other man’s feelings for him and whether or not his actions were indicative of a shared sexuality.  He so badly wanted there to be a possibility of a relationship forming between them – but the casualness with which Egbert treated these moments made him suspect otherwise, and Bro would be lying if he said it didn’t pain him. Every time that Egbert reassuringly patted him on the back, or touched his arm to get his attention and let his hand linger, or, like now, covered his hand with his own to teach him how to light his pipe was agonizing for Bro. It only raised more questions, and Bro was conflicted enough already without grappling with the dilemma of “Is he just being friendly, or is this his way of saying that he’s interested?”

These were the thoughts that kept him up at night. Laying on the futon in the living room, having given Dave his old room for his third birthday a few months prior. Thinking about the man who had entered his life so unassumingly, through a chance conversation at the bar where he would later be hired as a DJ, but who had made such a lasting impact on him. Wondering when exactly things had gone from a new single father helping out another, more inexperienced and harried guardian to something much deeper. Things had gradually progressed from Bro calling up Egbert at four in the morning in a blind panic (“Shit, I’m sorry, you’re probably asleep, but I can’t get him to shut up, he keeps wailing, why did I think this was a good idea, I can’t do this, I don’t know what the fuck I’m supposed to be doing—” “I think every new parent has felt that way before. Just take a deep breath, you’ll be fine. Could he be teething? Try giving him something chilled to chew on.” “I’ve got a few hard foam puppets in the fridge, would that work?” “…Why not? Give it a try!”), to the two of them regularly grabbing a bite to eat with their toddlers in tow, to spending time together even without their respective children involved.

“—and now that we’ve relit the pipe, the tobacco won’t unravel this time, and there won’t be any unfortunate hot spots that disrupt the nice, even bed in the bowl,” Egbert finished explaining. He let go of Bro’s hand, and the flickering flame of the lighter was extinguished. Bro cleared his throat and busied himself with his own cigarette, finally breaking the stare that he had fixated on Egbert for several long minutes.

“Yeah, no, I didn’t understand any of that shit. You can light your own pipe from now on, I’m sticking with my cigs.”

Egbert chuckled, puffing on his pipe and sending plumes of sweet-smelling smoke wafting through the night air. “To each his own. The fine art form of pipe smoking isn’t for everyone, after all. Still, it is quite the enjoyable past-time, should you ever wish to experience it.”

“I’ll take your word for it,” Bro said with a grin, taking a drag of his cigarette and blowing a thin stream of smoke.

The two of them fell into a comfortable silence, and Bro found his thoughts returning to the dilemma that plagued him. One wild, deranged part of him just wanted to grab the man by the shoulders and shake him, shouting, “Are you gay?” – but no, if he was going to do that, scope out whether or not there was the slightest chance Egbert could be attracted to him, it would have to be a very casual, cool, offhand question, so as not to make him suspect anything. This was the safe option; if he found out Egbert was straight after all, he could back off and that would be the end of that. But another, more pressing and logical fraction of his brain told him that he shouldn’t do or say anything, lest he run the risk of ruining whatever odd little thing they had formed between them. And, if he was being perfectly honest with himself, he was petrified that Egbert would judge him if he found out that his new confidant was gay. It was a fear that had been ingrained in him ever since childhood, bombarded with messages that he was wrong and sick because of feelings that he had no control over.

However, a larger portion of him was advising him to blatantly ignore all of the neon signs flashing “Danger, Bro Strider, danger!”, throw all caution to the winds, and kiss the other man as if his life depended on it, even if it possibly meant losing him for good. He would have thought he was batshit insane for even considering this harebrained idea, but he was already perfectly aware that he was insane by societal standards anyway.

Bro hesitated, wavering back and forth on what he should do. If he did take the plunge, he reckoned that there were two ways this could work out: either Egbert would return his affections in the best-case scenario, or he would gently let him down, informing him that he was Not a Homosexual™. Either way, it would permanently change their relationship, and he wasn’t so sure if he wanted to jeopardize his friendship with Egbert. It was risky.

… _Fuck it_ , he decided. In spite of his best attempts to not freak out over what he was about to do _—_ this was not cool, _goddammit_ , he wasn’t some grade-school girl obsessing over her crush on the boy who sat two seats away _—_ his heartbeat quickened involuntarily. He was putting his friendship with the one man who treated him as an equal, the one true friend he still had ( _human_ friend, he mentally amended, Lil’ Cal would always be his best friend) on the line. Not to mention the fact that he was outing himself in perhaps the most dangerous way possible, and, furthermore, on the streets of the very city that had rejected him and his sexuality all those years ago. The stakes were high, and the ramifications of his actions could be severe, but it was a gamble he was willing to take. He was done with waiting.

“Hey, Egbert,” he said suddenly, breaking the silence that was filled only with the sounds of passing cars and the ambience of the bustling city. Bro flicked his unfinished cigarette onto the ground and reached up to pluck Egbert’s pipe out of his mouth. Egbert gave him a questioning look and opened his mouth to speak, but Bro didn’t wait around to hear what he had to say – he was too busy kissing him to talk.

It was a little clumsy, a little too inexperienced for his liking, but Bro poured everything that he had into this one, desperate kiss, because it could very well be his last. Caught up in the moment, it took him a few seconds to realize that Egbert wasn’t kissing him back, and an ice-cold wave of horror shot straight up his spine. Bro nearly pulled away, prepared to mutter something inaudible and abscond the fuck back upstairs, when he felt the heat of Egbert’s palm lightly pressing against the small of his back as he finally returned the kiss.

“Well,” Egbert said when they pulled away, and Bro exhaled in relief when he saw the smile on his face. “You’ll forgive me for being a little surprised at first, but I suppose I shouldn’t have been too shocked. It was a long time coming.”

“Wait. The fuck?” Bro blinked and shook his head a little, still reeling from the intensity of the moment. “You mean you _knew_?”

“Well, I suspected something, yes,” Egbert said reasonably, his voice as calm and rational as ever. “I didn’t feel that it was my place to say anything, though, in case my hunch was wrong. Besides, you seemed conflicted as it was, and I didn’t want to make things worse. I was content with being there for you as a friend, but yes, I am certainly elated that you feel the same way as I do.”

“You _dick_ ,” Bro accused, “You could’ve given me some kind of fucking hint that you were— or that you—” He gave up and shook his head, too pleased to argue. “Never mind. You’re still a dick for making me obsess about all this shit, but you’re a loveable dick.”

Egbert laughed and reached for his hand. “Come on,” he said, tugging lightly. “Let’s go take care of those bed sheets now. I’ll help you get them in the wash, and we’ll find something else to tuck Dave in with in the meantime.”

“Yeah, good plan,” Bro said, and he allowed Egbert to lead him back inside, still a little dazed at how well his gamble had paid off. He started up the stairs after Egbert, using the opportunity to mask an uncharacteristically wide smile. Maybe it was his lucky cigarette, or maybe it was sheer coincidence, but one way or another… he guessed he wasn’t so unlucky in love after all.


End file.
